After a exercise induced coma of a sleep in "The Passion Hotel" Curtis and I dragged our sorry asses out onto the Autopista(highway)again to finish the last 40k(25miles)into Buenos Aires.Having had the day from hell then day before we thought that it would be a pretty easy ride into town and we would be settled in our hostel again by mid morning.Wrong again folks!We were quickly learning that patience is indeed a virtue and in Sth America every little thing can be an ordeal.
There is quite a difference between riding the Argentinian highways on a Sunday full of peace and tranqulity(if you call getting hit by a motorbike tranquil) and the mad Monday morning rush hour of a city of 13 million people.Oh my god were we in for a shock.It was just plain scary and we only lasted about 15k(9miles) before we decided to find an alternate route into town.Pulling off the highway we bought ourselves a map of the city and as luck would have it we were sitting right at an intersection where an alternate route was right in front of us.Ruta 202 to San Fernando,Buenos Aires.On paper it seemd simple,just follow this road 'til that road and then follow that one all the way into town.No worries, until a cop came up to us looking very para-military and asked us where we were going.We fumbled in our basic Spanish and told him of our smart plan.The first thing that we should have taken notice of was the sad look on his face and the shaking of his head.The second thing we really should have taken notice of was his impeccable sign language.The fingers held out in front in the shape of a gun meant,well,a gun.The hands in the air meant someone was going to be held up and the real clue to our impending doom was the slash along the throat,which I guess meant death.Now normal people would have taken all this information and figured out that if a cop is telling you not to go down a road cause you might die then the smart money would be not to go down the friggin road, right!!No friggin way,off we went.
Generally if you are in a big city and you hear chickens clucking and see a hundred dogs lying in the middle of a bumpy dirt road it´s fairly safe to assume that it´s not an upmarket niegbourhood.When you throw in a few burnt out cars decorating the street corners then perhaps it´s not the place for a couple of lycra clad,shaved legged,tri-geeks.Add to this the fact that the equipment we were parading in front of all and sundry cost more than the whole suburb we were riding through.It came as no surprise when a nice man who spoke perfect English stopped us at a roundabout and asked us just where the heck we were going.When informed our intended route he gave the same sad head shake as our friendly cop but was slightly less candid about our chances of survival should we continue down that road.One warning I can ignore but two?
He directed us down another road about a mile away and before you could say "I should have stayed at home and become a fat drunk" we were riding through one of the loveliest suburbs I have ever seen,anywhere!Welcome to San Isidro,Buenous Airies where all the nice school children wear nice private school uniforms while they wait to be picked up by thier glamourous mothers in thier shiny Mercedes and other assorted luxury cars.Where every lawn is manicured and the old cobbled streets meander under the arches of grand old trees.The sidewalks are lined with galleries,antique furniture stores and upmarket cafes.The smell of money is everywhere except around us, we just smelt bad
It was down one of those little cobbled streets that I spied out of the corner of my eye a bicyletaria or bike store for the Spanishly challenged.A quick turn and another near death experience later we were outside the store with one of the employees giving us that sad shake of the head we were getting so used to.This time though, our mortality was not in question it was the sad state of Curtis´wheel that brough out the emotion in this very helpful guy.I, by this stage, had just about begun my daily cravings and with a cafe a couple of stores away left Curtis to it.The coffee was great but the million and one questions asked of us by everyone who heard our dreadful Spanish would soon wear us down.Don´t get me wrong I love the fact that they are all so interested in us but, like listening to a James Blunt song,it´s great the first fifty times but it´s like torture after that.We would later learn to get used to being the center of attention everywhere we went and and it´s even kind of cool now.
The dude in the bike store could not have been more helpful and he promised that they could have a new little wheel built for Curtis by the next day.Fantastic!So all we had to do was ride the remaining few miles into town and bad to face the humiliation of our failed expedition to the cool staff at our hostel.Well yet again we became geographically embarrassed(lost) and took forever to get back.In fact that 40k(25miles) ended up being a hell of a lot longer and took us nearly five hours.Such is life on the road in the big city.
After explaining all our woes to the"see,I told you that you wouldn´t make it", faces of the hostel staff we settled in for another couple of days in bustling Buenous Aires.Lets chalk that one up to lessons learned and begin again in a couple of days.I mean really just what else could go wrong?
There is quite a difference between riding the Argentinian highways on a Sunday full of peace and tranqulity(if you call getting hit by a motorbike tranquil) and the mad Monday morning rush hour of a city of 13 million people.Oh my god were we in for a shock.It was just plain scary and we only lasted about 15k(9miles) before we decided to find an alternate route into town.Pulling off the highway we bought ourselves a map of the city and as luck would have it we were sitting right at an intersection where an alternate route was right in front of us.Ruta 202 to San Fernando,Buenos Aires.On paper it seemd simple,just follow this road 'til that road and then follow that one all the way into town.No worries, until a cop came up to us looking very para-military and asked us where we were going.We fumbled in our basic Spanish and told him of our smart plan.The first thing that we should have taken notice of was the sad look on his face and the shaking of his head.The second thing we really should have taken notice of was his impeccable sign language.The fingers held out in front in the shape of a gun meant,well,a gun.The hands in the air meant someone was going to be held up and the real clue to our impending doom was the slash along the throat,which I guess meant death.Now normal people would have taken all this information and figured out that if a cop is telling you not to go down a road cause you might die then the smart money would be not to go down the friggin road, right!!No friggin way,off we went.
Generally if you are in a big city and you hear chickens clucking and see a hundred dogs lying in the middle of a bumpy dirt road it´s fairly safe to assume that it´s not an upmarket niegbourhood.When you throw in a few burnt out cars decorating the street corners then perhaps it´s not the place for a couple of lycra clad,shaved legged,tri-geeks.Add to this the fact that the equipment we were parading in front of all and sundry cost more than the whole suburb we were riding through.It came as no surprise when a nice man who spoke perfect English stopped us at a roundabout and asked us just where the heck we were going.When informed our intended route he gave the same sad head shake as our friendly cop but was slightly less candid about our chances of survival should we continue down that road.One warning I can ignore but two?
He directed us down another road about a mile away and before you could say "I should have stayed at home and become a fat drunk" we were riding through one of the loveliest suburbs I have ever seen,anywhere!Welcome to San Isidro,Buenous Airies where all the nice school children wear nice private school uniforms while they wait to be picked up by thier glamourous mothers in thier shiny Mercedes and other assorted luxury cars.Where every lawn is manicured and the old cobbled streets meander under the arches of grand old trees.The sidewalks are lined with galleries,antique furniture stores and upmarket cafes.The smell of money is everywhere except around us, we just smelt bad
It was down one of those little cobbled streets that I spied out of the corner of my eye a bicyletaria or bike store for the Spanishly challenged.A quick turn and another near death experience later we were outside the store with one of the employees giving us that sad shake of the head we were getting so used to.This time though, our mortality was not in question it was the sad state of Curtis´wheel that brough out the emotion in this very helpful guy.I, by this stage, had just about begun my daily cravings and with a cafe a couple of stores away left Curtis to it.The coffee was great but the million and one questions asked of us by everyone who heard our dreadful Spanish would soon wear us down.Don´t get me wrong I love the fact that they are all so interested in us but, like listening to a James Blunt song,it´s great the first fifty times but it´s like torture after that.We would later learn to get used to being the center of attention everywhere we went and and it´s even kind of cool now.
The dude in the bike store could not have been more helpful and he promised that they could have a new little wheel built for Curtis by the next day.Fantastic!So all we had to do was ride the remaining few miles into town and bad to face the humiliation of our failed expedition to the cool staff at our hostel.Well yet again we became geographically embarrassed(lost) and took forever to get back.In fact that 40k(25miles) ended up being a hell of a lot longer and took us nearly five hours.Such is life on the road in the big city.
After explaining all our woes to the"see,I told you that you wouldn´t make it", faces of the hostel staff we settled in for another couple of days in bustling Buenous Aires.Lets chalk that one up to lessons learned and begin again in a couple of days.I mean really just what else could go wrong?
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